There are places where the veil between worlds is unusually thin, where spirits and darker shades gather to try and catch a glimpse of the world of the living. Places where the crossing is easier, to hear some folks tell it, where the more persistent are able to gain passage to our world and nestle comfortably into our myths and folklore, awakening every so often to remind us of their presence via unexplainable sightings or bumps in the night. A chill down your back, perhaps, or an icy draft floating under your door long before winter falls; you’ve doubtless felt this familiar inkling, calling it one of a thousand names we give to the things we can never truly know to satisfy our need to contextualize, a vain attempt to remove the teeth of that fear of the unknown.
UNC Football: Haunted
